am i really to old to feel so young.
while the old age of 30 knocks not at my door the bitch does stand on my street.
and just when i’m waking up from the long, cold hell i put myself into i see it all slipping away.
i’ve broken the rules, stepped out of line.
i couldn’t sin more even if i built a closet, got inside and went back to church.
though i must say i am living.
when the weekends call my name like a criminal stealing your things i’m there
and now i’ll put my worries to wait.
for some think they want to die while they secretly wish to live
and me?
i’m counting my sips of wine like sheep
twenty more and ill be sleep.
